


Fresh from the World

by Sass_Master



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a novel indulgence for Dean – waking up at his own leisure, cozy under clean sheets, molded into a cushy, overpriced mattress, not wearing a single stitch of clothing. It’s an almost <em>illicit</em> impracticality, not “the hunter way” by a long shot. The weapons tacked to his bedroom walls are primarily for show, not much use for a spontaneous monster fight. </p>
<p>He is <em>so completely unprepared</em> to spring out of bed at a moment’s notice, not that he’s particularly inclined to move under any circumstances, life-threatening or otherwise – not when he’s got Cas half-snoring beneath him, just as gloriously naked as Dean is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh from the World

Dean’s never had the best sleeping habits. As far back as he can remember, he’s been wrangling with a circadian rhythm that matched his lifestyle – unstable, wildly unpredictable, _kinda fucked up_ for lack of a better term. Prioritizing comfort and tranquility was a luxury he just didn’t have, more likely to nab a fitful few hours’ rest passed out on top of a scratchy, unsanitary bedspread in the latest sketchy no-tell, neither fully relaxed nor fully undressed. That arrangement was simply an unpleasant necessity, one he convinced himself he was used to, never settling in, always ready to leap into action at the slightest suggestion of danger.

This is a novel indulgence for Dean – waking up at his own leisure, cozy under clean sheets, molded into a cushy, overpriced mattress, not wearing a single stitch of clothing. It’s an almost _illicit_ impracticality, not “the hunter way” by a long shot. The weapons tacked to his bedroom walls are primarily for show, not much use for a spontaneous monster fight. He is _so completely unprepared_ to spring out of bed at a moment’s notice, not that he’s particularly inclined to move under any circumstances, life-threatening or otherwise – not when he’s got Cas half-snoring beneath him, just as gloriously naked as Dean is.

Dean’s still bleary-eyed, sprawled across Cas’s chest and nearly lured back to sleep by the steady rise and fall of it beneath his head. Dean gives into the urge to curl closer to Cas’s comforting warmth, suddenly aware of how _hard_ he is when he rubs up against Cas’s taut stomach. He stifles a moan, bucking his hips, shamelessly chasing the friction, and fuck, _yeah_ , he realizes as their cocks brush together, Cas is hard too. Dean’s most definitely awake now.

Dean’s face is nestled against Cas’s neck and he can’t resist leaving a few slow kisses there, loving the rasp of Cas’s stubble when he drags his lips along Cas’s jawline. Cas stirs sleepily, a low groan bubbling up from his throat, so deep that Dean feels the reverberation beneath his lips. It’s late enough into the morning that Cas allows his eyes to flutter open instead of grumping at Dean to go back to sleep for another hour, and Dean meets his gaze for just a moment before leaning in to kiss his pulse point. There’s nothing but miles of bare skin at his disposal and he can’t help but take advantage, nudging this scenario in a direction it was bound to go anyway, an inevitable result of them wrapped up together in bed, legs intertwined. It’s easy enough to shift until he’s more fully on top of Cas, squarely situated between his sturdy thighs.

Dean peers up at Cas’s face, gets a glimpse of a faint lazy smile as Cas threads his fingers through Dean’s hair. Cas lets his head loll back against the pillow, giving Dean more access as he kisses his neck again, steadily working his way down, Cas’s skin warm and smooth beneath his lips. Cas sighs and arches into it when Dean scrapes his teeth against a nipple, rolls the other between his fingers. Dean runs his hands down the length of Cas’s body, skimming over his ribs and settling on the sharp cut of his hipbones only briefly, sliding beneath Cas to get a handful of his ass because god _damn_ , how can Dean possibly stay away?

Dean’s mouth wanders lower, sucking a mark into Cas’s stomach, skirting around his obvious arousal and meandering down his leg, leaving more love bites against the muscled flesh. Cas’s cock is resting fat and heavy against his abdomen, and Dean can’t deny himself a taste any longer – he fleetingly runs his tongue along its length, just to feel it twitch toward his mouth, just to hear Cas’s breath catch, his grip tightening in Dean’s hair. Dean’s tempted to keep going, swallow Cas down until he’s writhing beneath Dean’s hands and spilling onto his tongue, but he tamps down the urge, makes his way back up Cas’s body until they’re face to face again – because he’s decided he doesn’t care about morning breath at the moment, he needs to kiss Cas right this fucking second. He braces himself over Cas, who instantly lifts his hands to frame Dean’s face between them, and dips down to meet Cas’s inviting mouth.

Kissing Cas never gets old for Dean, that underlying thrill rekindling, sparking to life each time, leaving him dizzy with the lingering disbelief that he gets to do this now. And when the heady rush fades away he’s left with a calmer, simmering burn, one strangely comforting and familiar, some corny and impossible feeling like _home._ Dean’s consistently swept up in the softness of Cas’s lips, the passion Cas always pours into this, whether it’s methodical and sweet or almost overwhelmingly intense, sloppy with their shared eagerness. There’s, well… _love_ in Cas’s kiss, Dean can’t pretend otherwise anymore, can’t help but greedily soak it up either, revel in it and repay it in turn instead of convincing himself he doesn’t deserve it. If he gets to wake up with Cas in his bed like this, touching him gently and looking at him like he’s something precious, he must have done _something_ right in his life.

Cas pulls him in with all four limbs, holds him close and readily opens his mouth, meets the slide of Dean’s tongue with the lazy curl of his own, presses their bodies flush with a sinuous roll of his hips. Dean rocks into it, has to pull his mouth away with a gasp, nearly delirious from the sensation of Cas’s insistent hardness against his own. They grind together with rapidly building urgency, hands wandering until they’re both worked up and restless, breaking the kiss and panting for breath.

They could easily get off this way, wound together tight, chasing the heat and pressure until they’re sated and sticky with each other’s come. They could do that, and it would be so fucking good like it is every time – it wouldn’t take much for Dean, and he suspects he’s not alone there. But before either of them can get to that point, Cas starts rummaging in the nightstand for the lube and hands it to Dean, his expression open and serene. Dean knows that Cas isn’t asking for or offering anything specific – he’s always up for just about anything, open-minded and _enthusiastic_ no matter what they do – this is just a sign that he wants more right now, wants to be closer to Dean in a very literal sense and _yeah_ , yeah, Dean wants that too.

He considers opening himself up, straddling Cas’s broad torso and sinking down – but while riding Cas’s dick is definitely an appealing idea, it might be more athletic than Dean’s up for, when it’s first thing in the morning and he’s still slow and sleep-hazy. He’s comfortable where he is, likes the feeling of Cas’s thick thighs bracketing his waist. Besides, it doesn’t look like Cas is about to do any of the work right now, the lazy ass. Dean isn’t really complaining.

Dean uncaps the bottle and eases his slick fingers into Cas one at a time. Cas hums indulgently, pulling Dean in for heated kisses, pushing into Dean’s touch when he finds just the right angle. Cas reaches out, fingers fitting briefly against the side of Dean’s neck, sliding his hand down Dean’s collarbone, settling against his chest, dragging the calloused pad of his thumb across Dean’s nipple. Cas is relentless, caressing and pinching until Dean’s biting back a whimper, always so fucking sensitive there, the practiced motions of his fingers into Cas suddenly faltering. He’s so hard he’s _aching._

Even though his own eyes slam shut in pleasure, Dean knows that Cas is watching him keenly, enraptured by the way Dean responds to his attentions. Cas retrieves the abandoned bottle from the mussed sheets and flips it open, takes Dean’s cock in hand, slicks him up with tight, leisurely strokes and Christ, Dean’s already so close to losing it. He bites his lip and tries to control himself, to keep from thrusting into Cas’s fist until he tips over the edge. Cas makes him crazy, spread out and unfairly gorgeous, his touch confident, knowing exactly how to make Dean feel good – Christ, maybe too good too soon.

Dean stays Cas’s hand, takes a moment to collect himself. There’s the suggestion of a smirk on Cas’s face, though it’s nothing but affectionate. He cups the back of Dean’s neck, urges him down and kisses his cheek, touching their foreheads together as Dean lines himself up.

When Dean finally pushes inside it’s a relief and _too much_ at the same time. Cas feels so damn good, _looks_ so damn good, chest flushed, gaze trained on Dean with laser focus. Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut again, overwhelmed, letting out a desperate moan that Cas answers with one of his own.

Dean keeps his rhythm just shy of gentle, slow but unwavering. There’s no urge to rush or show off – he’s just enjoying it, being close to Cas, feeling _connected_. Cas makes an obscene noise when Dean shifts just so, starts up a steady stream of praise and encouragement under his breath as he always does, _yes, like that, that’s good, Dean, Dean._

Dean can’t keep it together sometimes, when he’s on the other side of things, loses himself so completely in the way Cas takes him apart, can’t do much more than hang on for the ride. He’s more present this way, able drink in the look of bliss on Cas’s face, his parted lips, the hint of a grin still lingering at the corners, his body firm and _hot_ beneath Dean’s. He’s rocking forward to meet Dean’s careful thrusts, broad hands roaming Dean’s skin, combing through his hair and slipping down his back.

Before long Cas snakes one hand between them with the clear intention of getting himself off. Dean doesn’t try to take over. Frankly, he likes watching – Cas’s long, thick fingers wrapped around his cock, his muscles flexing, eyes closed as he groans loudly, coming hard all over both their stomachs, spilling into his own hand. Dean knows that Cas finds pleasure in just about everything they do but it’s still a thrill every time to see that Cas feels good, that Dean can give that to him. It’s flattering, _humbling_ that Cas just likes being with Dean so much, in any capacity. Dean’s never gone to bed with someone who’s so happy to be there with him, just because of who he is, not how he looks or any “skills” he brings to the bedroom. Cas makes him feel worthy. _Important_.

The sight, the sensation of Cas falling apart drives Dean that much closer to the brink. He slows down, brushes back Cas’s hair from his forehead and drops a kiss on his temple, his cheek, his mouth, as if to soothe him but needing a moment to ground _himself_ more than anything. He leans back and picks up his pace again when Cas starts to squirm impatiently, and Dean can’t help eyeing the mess on Cas’s hand until he lifts his fingers towards Dean’s mouth. Dean takes them in eagerly, licks them clean, shuddering in filthy enjoyment at the taste, the pads of Cas’s fingers pressing down on his tongue. He feels himself approaching the precipice, his deliberate thrusts stuttering, turning frantic. “Fuck,” he hisses when Cas’s fingers slip free, “ _Cas._ ”

“That’s it, Dean,” Cas rumbles silkily, cradling Dean’s face in one palm, digging his fingers into Dean’s ass to spur him on. “Let me see you.” Cas has barely said a word this morning beyond whispered praise, his deep, deep voice almost startling in its sudden clarity. Cas’s air of indolent hedonism has given way to a stark sort of intensity, a bit of a commanding edge to his voice, anxious for Dean to get his now too, greedy for it.

Dean’s drowning in the look on Cas’s face, the one revealing that what Cas wants more than absolutely anything right now is to see Dean find his pleasure, to share that with him. It’s still tough for Dean to hold eye contact in these vulnerable moments, to maintain that sort of raw intimacy he fears even as he craves it, but right now he couldn’t tear his gaze away if he tried. Right now the open adoration in Cas’s eyes is stoking the fire in his belly, heat climbing higher and higher until it crests and swallows him up.

Cas lets out an appreciative sound of his own as Dean’s moans reach a crescendo, as he comes, gasping, pitching forward. He rests his forehead against Cas’s collar bone while he rides it out, whimpering Cas’s name, hips twitching helplessly, Cas’s strong fingers stroking his back until he settles.

The atmosphere in the room has gone still, mostly silent aside from their ragged breathing. After a few beats Cas lets out a pleased _mmmm_ , nearly purring as he pets the sweaty nape of Dean’s neck, kissing his hair, reeling him in to slot their mouths together when Dean lifts his head and catches Cas’s eye. It makes Dean’s stomach flip to see Cas looking so relaxed and satisfied, a perfect reflection of how Dean feels himself, sagging into Cas’s embrace, lulled by the steady pulse of his heartbeat.

“Good morning,” Cas murmurs warmly, and that’s so _like_ him, to say it like a casual greeting, as if he’s seeing Dean for the first time today, as if he hadn’t just been growling filth into Dean’s ear a few minutes ago.

Dean almost wants to laugh as he smiles back at Cas, a wave of affection hitting him that’s so overwhelming his heart might burst. That doesn’t even scare him anymore. There was a time when this freaked him the hell out – the way he felt when he looked at Cas, when Cas looked at _him_ , how the gentle reverence in Cas’s touch made him feel special, _cherished_. It used to send him reeling back, stumbling out of bed with some flimsy excuse, but now he can admit it makes him feel safe and content to be in Cas’s arms, and so goddamn lucky, not a place in the world he’d rather be.

“Morning, Cas,” Dean replies, snuggling closer, ready to lie here for the foreseeable future. It’s a novel indulgence all right, being able to start his day like this – to spend the rest of his _life_ like this, if he has his way – but Dean’s pretty sure he can get used to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, branching out. Anyway, thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com).


End file.
